


extensive testing

by nysscientia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nysscientia/pseuds/nysscientia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles, please,” Lydia snaps, impatient.  “This is important.”</p>
<p>“Kissing?”</p>
<p>She smirks.  Stiles feels a frisson of something that could be lust or just good old-fashioned apprehension.</p>
<p>“With that mouth, you could be a prodigy,” Lydia says thoughtfully.  She drags a fingertip across his lower lip, trails it down his chest.  She nods to herself once, reaching a decision.</p>
<p>“I’m going to make you a star.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	extensive testing

After a long, heroic-level makeout session, Lydia pulls back and gives Stiles a major dose of Calculating Face.

“What?” he asks, half-hard and breathless but curious despite himself. Possibly the only thing more intriguing than Lydia’s body is the rapidfire of her mind.

“You haven’t kissed a lot of people besides me,” she says. He drags his gaze away from her nipped-red lips, meets her eyes and nods. Lydia’s eyes narrow. “Thought so.”

Stiles has a second to let go of the beautiful dream that his inexperience was maybe sort of subtle, but Lydia interrupts his mourning by continuing with, “You’re just a natural, then.”

“Are you asking if the carpet matches the drapes?” his mouth replies on autopilot. His brain’s still working to catch up. Somehow, being analyzed and evaluated has done nothing to kill his hard-on.

“Stiles, please,” Lydia snaps, impatient. “This is important.”

“Kissing?”

She smirks. Stiles feels a frisson of something that could be lust or just good old-fashioned apprehension.

“With that mouth, you could be a prodigy,” Lydia says thoughtfully. She drags a fingertip across his lower lip, trails it down his chest. She nods to herself once, reaching a decision.

“I’m going to make you a star.”

-

“Not yet,” Lydia says when Stiles slides his fingers between her legs. Her voice is unaffected, almost scolding– but her hips twitch towards him. He draws his hand away obediently, but not before noticing that she’s gratifyingly slick.

“Tease me for a long as you can stand it. Longer,” she instructs. He flicks with his tongue, a break in his steady lapping rhythm, and she makes a breathy sound before continuing. “Make me desperate.”

Stiles glances up from between her thighs, trying to catalogue every single thing about the moment. Everything smells thick and heady and amazing.

“Desperate?” he repeats, fully aware that asking brushes his lips across her clit. He puckers them around her, giving her a second of suction. “How will I be able to tell?”

“Don’t be smug,” she counters, words annoyed and tone pleading. “It’s not attractive.” When he returns to lapping, sliding his tongue against her as lightly as he can, her eyes flutter shut and thoroughly undermine her point.

She threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, first gently and then holding more firm.

“A little– higher– yes. Yes, there,” she says. “Now you’re under the hood. Makes me more sensitive, so– ah– be gentle.”

Stiles follows her hands as they guide him up, shifts from one knee to the other to keep his balance while kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“Good,” she continues, and Stiles squashes the urge to whine like a dog pleasing its master. The image makes him throb almost uncomfortably.

“Now try a little faster,” Lydia adds.

For all the talking he does, Stiles’ tongue apparently doesn’t have much stamina– _yet_ , his brain supplies– and he’s not sure he can go much faster. But then Lydia makes a noise, an airy little hum, and somehow he finds it in himself to pick up the pace.

He’s rewarded with an extended “yes, yeah, yes,” which is the biggest departure from Teacher Mode Lydia’s had thus far. He decides he wants more of that. Screw waiting for directions; experimentation is where it’s at.

He gives the flat of his tongue a break, opting for the tip instead. It feels kind of like trying to tickle her with his mouth. Her reaction is immediate.

“Ooh, yes, okay, that’s good,” she says, and it sounds like she exerts serious effort to turn what starts as a moan back into articulated affirmation. “Variety is– variety– good. Very good.”

Stiles alternates between gentle and prodding, learning what makes her squirm, what makes her sigh. At some point her hands leave the back of his head to tease at her own nipples, and then to grasp the bedsheets. Her directions become simpler and simpler: “switch back and forth more;” “use your lips too;” “harder.” He tries curling his lips around her and sucking again, this time with a little more force, and she cries out.

Stiles decides that qualifies as desperate.

It takes a little renegotiation with the mattress to balance himself, but then he’s home free. He brushes a finger lightly against her.

She inhales sharply. Doesn’t say a word.

He strokes, teasing her lips for a bit, exploring her slip-slide and her silky skin. His tongue slows down again, but the tremors in her thighs suggest that’s not necessarily bad.

Stiles glances up again, looking for guidance, memorizing her expression. Lydia’s eyes are closed, head tipped back, lips sucked in tight like she’s trying to stay silent.

He braces himself, then presses a finger inside her.

She’s already achingly, thoroughly wet, so he slides in easily. She gasps, loud and resonant compared to her bitten-off sighs, and bucks against him once.

“Oh– _oh–_ are you sure you know what you’re doing– with that?” Lydia asks.

Stiles realizes his eyes have dropped closed again. When he opens them, she’s staring down at him, her whole face a challenge.

In answer, he grazes just above her clit with his teeth and curls the finger inside her wickedly. She yelps, neck bowing and hands fisting into the sheets.

“A few working theories,” he murmurs against her.

Lydia lets out a breathy chuckle. “A theory must be substantiated with extensive testing,” she manages.

“Then I should get started,” he replies, and slides his finger partway out before pushing back in experimentally. It takes a few tries, but he finds a place to press that makes her twitch and seize, clawing at the bedding.

“Stiles,” she says; he thrusts in again. “Stiles, _please_.”

The need in her voice wrecks him; he groans, rests his head against her thigh for a second. Then he seals his mouth around her, tongue working as steadily as he can manage, too desperate for it to matter that his neck’s tired. He presses his finger in again and again, crooking it up and twisting his wrist just slightly when he draws back out– and then Lydia’s thighs tense, and she inhales shakily, successively, like she can’t remember how to exhale– and then something inside her clenches, drawing him in, pulling him close.

Thrusting seems harsh, then, but Stiles also doesn’t want to abandon her at the finish line, so he slows down. Massages her through her orgasm.

Lydia doesn’t voice anything as she comes, but Stiles watches– couldn’t possibly look away– and her face is everything. She’s flushed with exertion, pink and furious and glowing. Her brow furrows hard, like she’s concentrating to make sure she doesn’t miss a single second of sensation.

Stiles keeps his tongue working. He’s not sure if it’s even really important for her at this point; mostly he just wants to keep licking her.

When she relaxes, melting down into the mattress, he slowly withdraws his finger. He presses a chaste kiss to her clit before pulling himself away altogether.

Lydia’s hands land at his neck again, and she tugs him up. He follows eagerly, crawling up her body; she pulls him into kiss after kiss. He’s poundingly hard and as proud as he can ever remember being. An orgasming Lydia Martin is clearly a gift to the cosmos, and Stiles got to be the one who brought her there.

She pulls back, meets his eyes.

“So?” he prompts. She sighs long and loud, satisfied. Grins up at him.

“I,” she answers, “am an excellent teacher.”


End file.
